


Handcuffs

by ryeloza



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M, Humor, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:34:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22418581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryeloza/pseuds/ryeloza
Summary: Leslie helps Ben with his fear of cops by letting him handcuff her in bed.
Relationships: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a kinkmeme prompt I filled back in the day. Part 2 is a reversal. Enjoy!

As far as Wednesday nights go, this one is pretty standard.  
  
Ben and Leslie are in his bed, engaged in a rather enthusiastic make-out session that is definitely headed in a promising direction. Leslie’s wearing nothing but her underwear and a t-shirt, and Ben’s down to his boxers, enjoying Leslie’s wandering hands. His own hands have settled on her ass, and his fingers are just starting to explore beneath the waistband of her underwear when Leslie pulls back.  
  
It’s her expression, more than her pulling away, that lets him know something is up. She batting overly innocent eyes at him, a too-eager smile pulling at her lips as she looks down at him. “What?” he asks, pulling his hands back so they rest on her waist. “What are you thinking?”  
  
“I had an idea today.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“I found something the other day. While I was packing.”  
  
Ben’s a bit lost, honestly, by the fact that Leslie interrupted their activities for this announcement. If they cataloged all of the surprising things Leslie has found while trying to clean and pack her house, the list would be unending. “Okay,” he says again, mostly because he doesn’t know what else she expects.  
  
“Do you want to see?”  
  
“Do I…What, Leslie? Did you bring it with you?”  
  
“Yes.” She scrambles off of the bed and pulls her purse from the dresser, fumbling with something he can’t see. As she turns back to him, she hides whatever it is behind her back, slowly walking back to the edge of the bed and smiling coyly. “Now, don’t freak out.”  
  
“What—”  
  
The question dies on his lips with Leslie’s reveal—danging between her fingertips is a pair of handcuffs. Immediately, Ben jumps, scooting away from her without realizing it. “What—Les, are those handcuffs?”  
  
“Uh-huh.” She climbs back on to the bed, tossing the cuffs down between them and smiling expectantly. When he fails to respond, she plunges on as if there was no pause. “After I found them, I got to thinking, these would be the perfect thing to help you finally get over your fear of cops.”

Ben’s fairly certain the loud music he’s hearing is only in his head, but his eyes dart around the room anyway, as though searching for the source. When he finally settles his gaze back on Leslie, she’s giving him a bewildered stare.  
  
“You…That’s…I don’t…” He pauses, taking a deep breath, trying to force himself to be coherent. It’s not like the handcuffs are going to leap up and bite him. “Leslie, I don’t think this is such a good idea.”  
  
Leslie sighs. “You have to get over this fear sometime,” she says, sounding oddly pragmatic for a woman who has just produced handcuffs from her purse. “Andy’s preparing for the Police Academy now…Do you plan to be afraid of Andy for the rest of your life just because he has a uniform and a gun?”  
  
“Anyone in their right mind would be scared of Andy with a gun.”  
  
Leslie sighs and sits back on her heels.  
  
“Where did you even get these?” he asks, picking up the cuffs. He holds them between two fingers, arm outstretched, as though he’s inspecting a particularly filthy piece of trash.  
  
“Er—”  
  
“Leslie?”  
  
“They were a present.”  
  
“From?”  
  
“…Donna.” Ben drops the cuffs, and they land with a clank on the mattress. “But like three years ago. As a joke.”  
  
“Because you were dating a cop?”  
  
“Maybe.” Leslie leans forward and runs her hand over his knee. “Look, the point is, she has no idea that you and I are doing anything. I mean, she probably doesn’t even remember giving them to me.”  
  
“That’s the least of my worries.”  
  
Leslie pouts and crawls over the bed into his lap, looping her arms around his neck. One of her hands slides into his hair, fingers lightly scratching at his scalp. It’s more soothing than anything, but Ben can’t bring himself to relax. Not with those cuffs sitting out, mocking his insecurities. “Listen,” Leslie says; his hands find her hips and lightly stroke her skin. “We don’t have to do this.”  
  
“We don’t?”  
  
“Of course not. But I think we should. You need to find some way to keep it together when we’re around cops.”  
  
“And you think associating it with sex will lessen my ineptitude?”  
  
“Well, it can’t make it worse.” Leslie smiles and gives him a soft kiss. “Look, we’ll ease into it. Work our way up to the costumes.”  
  
“Costumes?”  
  
“Tonight,” Leslie plows on as if he hasn’t spoken, “you handcuff me.”  
  
And just like that, Ben’s brain short-circuits. In fact, he may be having an aneurism. Because there’s no way in hell that his brilliant, beautiful, sexy fiancée just suggested he handcuff her during sex. “Right,” he laughs shakily as Leslie slides off of his lap. “I’ll handcuff you.”  
  
“Yep.” Leslie pulls off her t-shirt and tosses it across the room. “Do you think you can handle that?”  
  
“Can I…? Leslie, you’re the one who’ll be restrained.”  
  
“Uh-huh.”  
  
“And you’re…okay with that?”  
  
“More than okay.” She toes off her socks as well, and then puts her hands on her hips and cocks her head at him curiously. “Why are you staring at me like that?”  
  
He does feel like he’s gaping a bit; consciously, he shuts his mouth. “I’m just surprised. We’ve never…done this before. Wait—have you?”  
  
“Have I what?”  
  
“Done this before? You know, with someone else.”  
  
“No. But there’s a first time for everything.” She picks up the cuffs and bounces onto the bed, pushing Ben down into the sheets. He can feel the cold press of metal against his chest, and he shivers. “So are we doing this or not, Wyatt?”  
  
“God, yes.” The words escape before he thinks about them, and he’s surprised by how true they are. Right now he can think of nothing else he wants more than to handcuff Leslie and have sex with her. No matter how wrong and dirty that sounds in his head.  
  
“Don’t over-think this,” Leslie says, feathering kisses over his jaw. “You’re not going to be doing anything I don’t want you to do.”

Her confidence in him erases any lingering doubts, and Ben runs his fingers down her arm to the hand that holds the handcuffs. He lays his hand over hers lightly, smiling as she kisses him. He can feel her body tense with anticipation, and he purposely holds back, threading his other hand into her hair and responding enthusiastically to her kisses. They make out for several long, lazy minutes, until he feels Leslie relax into him, her body stretching languidly over his. Subtly, he tugs the cuffs from her grip, and rolls Leslie onto her back, pulling her hands from behind his head and pinning them to the mattress.  
  
Leslie grins. This totally satisfied, I am a sneaky genius smile that lights up her whole face. She trails her right foot over the back of his leg, her big toe drawing patterns, and, with an innocence that doesn’t match the look in her eyes or her action, purrs, “Oh, Officer, did I do something wrong?”  
  
Much as he wishes otherwise, the words make him pause; he dips his head, feeling stupidly self-conscious, but Leslie lifts her head presses her lips against the skin of his cheek. “It’s okay,” she whispers, but it’s not. It’s ridiculous—this is Leslie, Leslie being her usual playful, loving self and trying to help him, and yeah, this definitely ends here. She drops her head back to the pillow, questions and apologies warring in her eyes, and he takes a deep breath.  
  
“I’m afraid, ma’am, that you were speeding back there.”  
  
“Speeding?” She gives him a slightly incredulous look before slipping back into character. “I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again. And definitely don’t look in the trunk of my car because I absolutely do not have any stolen artwork back there!”  
  
Ben raises an eyebrow, wondering what on earth her art thief costume would have looked like, and Leslie nudges his ribs with her knee. “I think,” he says, drawing out the words deliberately, enjoying Leslie’s impatient squirming beneath him, “that painting of Diaphena would beg to differ.”  
  
Leslie lights up, delighted, and he can’t help but grin. He can do this. Absolutely. No doubts.  
  
“Oh no! Officer, I have no idea how that got there! You have to believe me.”  
  
“The evidence is pretty damning. I think I might have to bring you in…for, um, questioning.”  
  
“No!” Leslie shouts, startling him. She breaks free of his loose grasp without much effort, tackling him so he flops onto his back, and then rolling toward the edge of the bed. “You’ll never take me alive!”  
  
Ben blinks, dazed by this turn of events, and watches as Leslie backs away from the bed, carefully making her way around the maze of boxes on his floor. It’s a combination of what he brought back from D.C. and what they’ve managed to pack for the move to their new place—enough clutter that maneuvering in here tonight is almost as dangerous as it is in her bedroom all the time. He stands up and cautiously makes a move, not toward Leslie, but toward the door. He doesn’t think she’ll try to leave the room, not with Andy and April home, but sometimes Leslie gets a bit swept up in things like this and acts without thinking.  
  
“Do I have to add resisting arrest to your list of crimes?”  
  
“I thought you were just bringing me in for questioning.”  
  
“This is awfully suspicious behav—” Without warning, Leslie darts away, heading straight for the bed. Ben anticipates her movement, heading toward her, and as she jumps onto the bed, actually making an attempt to run across it, he reaches out and grasps her thighs. She loses her balance, slipping and falling onto her stomach, and Ben scrambles onto the bed, straddling her upper thighs before she can move. She’s laughing, but trying not to at the same time, and it’s not aiding her halfhearted attempt at escape in the slightest. Blindly, Ben gropes for the handcuffs, and before he can over-think it, cuffs Leslie’s left wrist, pulling it behind her back and then enclosing her right wrist as well.

For a second, they both seemed stunned. Leslie stops giggling, pulling at the restraints as if to test their effectiveness; Ben simply can’t stop staring. At the sight of her hair spilling over her shoulder; at the smooth expanse of her back; at her hands, fingers wriggling impatiently. When he looks down, he can see her engagement ring, and it’s overwhelming. How much she trusts him—not just to restrain her during sex, but also with her heart. She’s choosing to be with him for the rest of her life, and that, that makes him feel such a surge of power and love, that he finally loses control.  
  
He removes his boxers first, maneuvering them around his erection and then shucking them quickly. Then, somewhat roughly, he reaches for her underwear, pulling them down and exposing the pale, smooth skin of her ass. He has to move off of her to remove them completely, and as soon as they’re gone, he moves his hand to her center. She’s wet—so wet that he’s momentarily surprised by how into this she is—and she moans as his fingers stroke her, exploring her folds. Slowly, he drags his fingers up, over her ass, trailing up her back, at the same time moving so his body is draped over hers. His cock brushes against her ass, and she whimpers as he settles his weight over her back.  
  
“I think the evidence is pretty damning,” Ben growls, stroking her hair aside to kiss behind her ear. “Are you going to deny the charges?”  
  
“No,” breathes Leslie. She’s trembling beneath him, and he reaches down, lining up his dick with her center and pressing forward so the tip of his cock enters her. She groans, her next words almost lost in the sound of her pleasure. “I’ll confess. I did it.”  
  
“That’s all I wanted to hear.”  
  
He presses into her, stretching her, pushing into her as deeply as he can, moaning as her walls contract around him. Leslie can’t do much—with her hands restrained, she can’t even support her weight—and he can’t move very fast in this position, but everything is tighter and wetter and hotter than what seems possible. She wriggles beneath him, grinding her clit into the bedspread, and god, this is so, so dirty in the best possible way.  
  
He begins to work at a rhythm, slow, but hard and deep, spurred on by the little noises Leslie’s making beneath him. He drops his lips to her shoulders, kissing a path across her back, while her nails scratch at his stomach. Despite her limited movement, she finds ways to tease him, clenching her muscles around his cock and creating a pressure so tight, he knows he’s going to explode.  
  
“What do you think?” he gasps, desperate to bring her to the edge with him. He wriggles a hand beneath her body, finding her clit with his fingers and adding precise pressure as she continues to press her hips down. “Does the punishment fit the crime?”  
  
“Ye-es,” she moans. She shakes her head, clearly frustrated by her inability to move, but also on the verge of breaking. “Oh god—Oh Ben, please.”

He turns his hand, pinching her clit between two fingers, and tries not to gasp as she bucks down into the bed. “Excuse me,” he says, the words coming out more strangled than he’d like. “That’s not how you address an officer of the law.”  
  
“Fuck.” Leslie pants, heavily, her whole body trembling beneath his. Her back is slick with sweat, and he leans down to lick a patch of her skin. “Officer Wyatt,” she moans, “please—”  
  
The words unravel him in a way he never thought possible. He flattens himself against Leslie, feeling the cuffs slide along his torso, and starts to thrust as fast as he can, moving his fingers in circles against her clit. Leslie moans loudly, letting out a string of curse words, and then suddenly her body stiffens beneath his. She freezes for a moment, and then all at once, her body begins to convulse, her inner walls nearly strangling his cock. His balls seize up, and he can’t stop himself from cumming, twisting his hips against Leslie’s ass as he empties into her. He collapses, spent, just managing to roll off of Leslie, who remains on her stomach, breathing heavily.  
  
“You are amazing,” he says, managing to close the distance between them and kiss her. “Just absolutely fucking brilliant.”  
  
Leslie smiles at him, her expression soft and sated. “The charges will never stand,” she says, sounding much more like Leslie and less like her art thief persona. “You didn’t read me my rights.”  
  
He laughs, wrapping an arm around her back and pulling her closer. She nuzzles his neck, nipping at his pulse point and sighing. “Just wait until I’m the cop,” she sighs. “I’ll never forget something so important.”  
  
“Right,” he chuckles, kissing the top of her head. Really, the only surprise is that he can’t wait to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

“Okay!” Leslie calls, loud enough so Ben can hear her through the bathroom door. She picks up her hat and carefully places it on her head, taking care not to disturb the pins in her hair. “I’m coming out. Are you ready?”  
  
Silence. She even leans into the door, straining to hear any indication of life on the other side, but there’s not a peep from the bedroom.  
  
Okay, so, that is not the most promising start. But it’s okay. He’s nervous. It’s understandable, and definitely not insurmountable. After all, just a few weeks ago, Ben was trembling at the _sight_ of handcuffs in their bed, and she made him a fan of those in record time. He hardly flinches when she pulls them out now. And he’ll get past this too.  
  
“Ben?” she shouts again. “I need some sign you’re still alive, okay?”  
  
This time she can hear a muffled response, some inarticulate muttering that at least sounds like Ben. “Honey, what did you say?” She puts her hand on the doorknob, weighing the pros and cons of going out there and having this conversation face-to-face, when the door swings open. She jumps, startled, but it’s nothing compared to Ben, who takes one look at her and stops dead.  
  
What do people call that expression? Deer in the headlights? Yes—Poor, sweet Ben stands there frozen like a frightened baby deer who thinks she won’t hurt him if he doesn’t move.  
  
Definitely not a promising start.  
  
Well, fine. They’ll go slow.  
  
“What do you think?” she asks, turning in a circle so he can get the whole effect of the outfit. It’s a pretty authentic looking cop costume—she made sure it was starched and crisp before putting it on. She even has the handcuffs ready to go and some gadget-y walkie talkie thing she borrowed from Tom clipped to her belt. She stopped just short of adding a toy gun, which was probably a good call since Ben’s already a little pale. “It’s a pretty good costume, right?”  
  
Nothing. The emphasis on the word costume doesn’t seem to penetrate the fog in Ben’s brain, so she adds, “ _Costume_ , Ben. The one I bought on sale at the Halloween store and altered downstairs in our living room in front of you. Remember?”  
  
“Uh-huh.” Finally—a sign of life. “S-S-Sorry,” he stammers, eyes moving down her body and then back to her face. “I’m feeling this weirdly ambivalent mix of being really, really attracted to you and also scared shitless, and I’m not exactly sure how to respond.”  
  
Leslie steps toward him, ignoring the fact that he’s still frozen in the doorway, and reaches down to palm him through his pants. He’s not lying; she can feel his physical response, and she smiles as he grows harder at her touch. This she can work with. Absolutely.

“We seem to have a problem here, sir,” she says, running her hands up to his chest and beginning to undo the buttons of his shirt.  
  
“We—We do?”  
  
“Yes. This is a very serious situation. I’m afraid I’m going to have to investigate further.” She reaches the last of his buttons and pulls open the fabric, peeling it off of his shoulders and letting it float to the floor. “I’m going to have to ask for your cooperation here, okay?”  
  
“S-Sure. Okay. Yes. I’m not—I don’t want to give you any trouble…Officer.”  
  
Leslie can’t quell her beaming smile, and she drops her eyes to the now obvious bulge in his pants so he can’t see her break character. She takes a deep breath, forcing herself to stay serious, and pushes him back into the bedroom. “Strip,” she orders, standing back and crossing her arms.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“I thought you were going to cooperate,” she says. “Are you refusing?”  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
He pulls his undershirt off, revealing the lean muscles of his chest, and then fumbles with his belt, undoing it and quickly shucking his pants. As he kicks them away, Leslie openly ogles the sight of his erection tenting his boxers and shakes her head. “Well,” she says, “I see we have a bigger problem than I thought. Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to lie down on the bed.”  
  
Ben complies, to her delight, actually smirking a bit as he does. “I have to say, Officer, this seems terribly inappropriate.”  
  
“I’m just doing my job, sir.” She joins Ben on the bed, straddling his torso and putting her hands flat on his chest. “I’m required by law to protect the citizens of this town.”  
  
“And what exactly is it that you think I’ve done?”  
  
“You, Mr. Wyatt, have committed the crime of being too sexy. And I’m afraid I’m going to have to place you under arrest.”  
  
Ben laughs, a clear sign that he’s more relaxed, and Leslie takes advantage of it to reach for the handcuffs, pulling them out and dangling them in front of his face. “You have the right to remain silent,” she says, keeping her eyes on Ben’s as his laughter fades and his breathing becomes a bit more labored. She reaches for his right hand, slowly cuffing his wrist. The click of the metal locking in place heightens the tension in the room, and she can see the slightest anxiety in Ben’s eyes as she draws his wrist up to the head of the bed. But he doesn’t stop her, and she continues, in the same calm tone of voice, “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.” She loops the cuffs through the post in the headboard, and without her prompting, Ben raises his left arm, allowing her to cuff his other wrist. She swallows hard, resisting the urge move against him and ease the throbbing between her legs. “Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?”  
  
“Yes.” His voice is low and thick with emotion, and Leslie feels another surge of wetness at the sound of him coming undone beneath her. She didn’t realize how much she doubted they’d get to this point—or how desperately she wanted to.  
  
Reluctantly, she slides off of his body, crawling off the end of the bed so she’s standing at the foot in front of him. The sight of him, arms restrained, body spread out and at her mercy, is doing unexpected things for her. It takes every ounce of willpower she possesses not to pounce on him right then. “Now, Mr. Wyatt,” she says, pacing at bit as she struggles to get back in character, “you have been charged with the crime of being too sexy. Do you deny these charges?”  
  
“Uh…” She pauses, turning to look at him, and Ben licks his lips. “I’d like to know what evidence you have.”  
  
“Evidence? Well let’s start with your slight, powerful, gorgeous body. It’s irresistible.”  
  
“It is?”  
  
“Don’t try to deny it.” She clasps her hands behind her back and rocks up on her toes, doing the best impersonation of a cop. “And then there’s this—” She nods at his erection. “You can’t hide that type of physical evidence.”  
  
“I hardly think that’s proof.”  
  
“And perhaps most damning,” she continues as though he hasn’t spoken, “is how fucking turned on I am right now.”

Ben’s eyes widen, clearly surprised, and then he rakes his gaze over her body, a dangerous, ogling look that makes her flush. When his eyes finally meet hers again, there’s a challenge there that makes her feel much less in control of the situation. And, judging by his smirk, he knows it.  
  
“Prove it.”  
  
It’s Leslie’s turn to be thrown off her game, but only for a split second. After all, this is her idea, her turn to be in charge, and Ben is still the one handcuffed to the bed, unable to do anything. This time the power rests in her hands, and he’s not going to be able to deny it.  
  
She removes her hat, tossing it across the room like a Frisbee, and then slowly takes out the pins in her hair. It tumbles down around her shoulders, loose and wavy, and she can see Ben’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. She hasn’t broken his gaze yet, daring him to look away first as she begins to undo the buttons on her shirt. The struggle is visible on his face—the hopeless thought to maintain some control or to yield to her slow reveal of her body—but when her shirt flutters to the floor and she undoes the clasp of her bra, he finally concedes.  
  
He licks his lips as his eyes take in the sight of her breasts. It’s as much the heat of his gaze as the chill in the room that makes her nipples harden, and she pauses her stripping to move her hands to her breasts, as desperate to relieve the ache as she is to drive Ben to distraction. She massages them, drawing her fingers along the underside, touching herself in all of the places she wishes Ben’s hands were. She rolls her nipples between her fingers, groaning at the stimulation, and Ben lets out a strangled moan. The cuffs rattle as he tries and fails to move, and she can see him squirming uncomfortably on the bed.  
  
It serves him right, really, though she can’t deny that the stark need in his eyes and his movements fuel her as much as her own desire. Slowly, she draws her right hand down her chest, over her stomach, and then wriggles it beneath her pants to press her fingers to her clit. It’s not effective—she has no range of motion and it’s not the right pressure, but at the sight of her, Ben actually bucks on the bed, letting out a loud hiss. “Fuck,” he curses, the sudden exclamation breaking the quiet in the room. “Fuck—Leslie— _please_!”  
  
God—It should be impossible that this version of Ben is as hot as the others. That him losing control, begging her and coming unhinged, does as much for her as when he throws her down on the bed and commands her. This give and take, the fact that she can have both, is enough to drive her crazy.  
  
She undoes her belt, her hands less steady than they were, unzips her pants and pulls them and her underwear off in one quick movement. Ben’s eyes are dark—nearly black—with lust but she can’t help but push him just a little further. Drawing her hand down again, she strokes herself, soaking her fingers in her wetness and brushing them over her lips. Purposely, she draws her outer lips apart with two of her fingers, giving Ben a full view as she lowers her other hand and gently circles her clit.  
  
Ben nearly whimpers, his breathing heavy as she rubs herself. It’s inspirational, listening to it, watching him unravel, and in one final move of brilliance, she brings her fingers to her mouth, sucking them and tasting herself. Ben goes crazy at the sight of her, thrusting his pelvis up as his knees bend, his head thrashing wildly. His eyes are shut tight, sweat broken out on his brow, and finally, Leslie takes pity on him.  
  
“I think,” she says, waiting for Ben to open his eyes again, “that you’d agree the evidence is very damning.”

She slides back onto the bed as Ben lowers his legs, and begins to crawl up his body, watching Ben watch her, enjoying the hunger in his eyes as he watches her swaying breasts. As soon as she’s close enough, she wraps her fingers in the waistband of his boxers, maneuvering them around his erection and then drawing them off and tossing them to the floor. He’s fully erect, flushed a deep, dark pink already, the veins on the underside of his cock visible, and when she wraps a hand around him, she can feel him throbbing.  
  
“Are you going to confess?” She runs her thumb along the underside of his dick, reaching the ridge of the tip and applying a little more pressure. Her other hand reaches down to play with his balls, finding them hot and tight in her palm. This isn’t going to take long.  
  
“Y-Yes. Fuck—yes, Officer! I confess!”  
  
“I need to hear you say it,” she says. She moves one of her hands back to her center, soaking herself in her own wetness, and then returning to stroke Ben’s cock. He’s pressing up into her movement, trying to increase her speed and the friction, but Leslie holds back. She wants him inside of her before this is over.  
  
“Say what? God—”  
  
“State your crime. For the record.”  
  
Ben stares at her, incredulous, but he’s panting and aching, and she just smiles, feeling victorious. “Fine,” he says through clenched teeth. “I confess. I’m…too sexy.”  
  
The words—as sardonically as Ben says them—shred whatever control she has left. She moves as fast as she can, hovering over him and guiding his cock to her center, lowering herself down on him in one long, deep stroke. They both groan, overwhelmed. She is beyond ready for this, soaked and aching, and the feeling of Ben inside of her, _finally_ , is more than she can stand.  
  
Leslie braces her hands on his shoulders, angling herself so his cock brushes against her front wall and her clit grinds into his pelvis as she circles her hips. Each pass is almost unbearable, pressure where she needs it the most, but this need for release growing more and more intolerable. She feels Ben bend his knees again, using the leverage to thrust up into her, but the movement is limited, and his frustration palpable. He’s begging again, whispered pleas in her hair, and she leans down to press kisses all over his chest before she sits up straight, steadying herself by placing her hands low on his abdomen.  
  
“Do you want to touch me?” She raises up as she questions him, moving until only the tip of his cock is inside of her, and then slowly thrusting back down on him, squeezing him as she goes.  
  
“ _Fuck_ , Leslie, you know I do.”  
  
“Where?” she asks, continuing to go achingly slow, drawing this out for both of them.  
  
“Everywhere. God, your breasts. I want to put my lips on your breasts. I want to suck your nipples into my mouth—”  
  
It’s her turn to swear, a long low hiss she can’t contain. She loves this, Ben on the verge of breaking, babbling about what he wants to do to her—something she associates with months of phone sex. This is better, of course, because he’s here and inside of her and she’s not just unraveling to the sound of his voice, but _all_ of him.

She begins to move faster, shutting her eyes and letting the sound of Ben’s voice rush over her. She’s solely focused on her own pleasure now; in finding that release she desperately needs. And Ben—Ben is so close, he’s going to fall with her.  
  
“Touch yourself,” he commands, though his voice his broken and desperate. “Fuck, baby, touch yourself where I can’t. I want to see you touch your clit. I want to feel you cum.”  
  
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes,” she groans, nodding furiously as she follows his direction. She moves her fingers to her clit, done with gentle swipes and teasing movement; now she circles herself furiously as she rides his cock.  
  
“Pretend it’s me,” he orders. “Pretend I’m touching you. Pretend my mouth is on your breasts, kissing you…Fuck—kissing every inch of your skin…”  
  
The words touch her like he can’t, pressing into her like a physical manifest and breaking the last of her control. She thrusts against him again and then freezes, squeezing him tightly as she feels her orgasm wash over her. Every muscle in her body tightens, and her own pleasure bursts inside of her, moving through her head to toe. Ben groans beneath her, thrusting up once more, and then she can feel him surge inside of her, his own release spinning out her orgasm.  
  
She collapses against his chest, pressing haphazard kisses against his sweaty skin as she struggles to breathe. There’s an emptiness, not feeling his arms come around her, holding her to him, but she can’t move—can’t release him without first regaining possession of her body. She’s undone by the strength of her orgasm, and judging from Ben’s labored breathing, she’s not alone.  
  
“Thank you,” she hums. “Oh, god, honey, thank you for doing this.”  
  
“Leslie.” Ben jostles her a little as he moves his legs, and she forces herself to sit up, supporting her weight on arms that still feel like jelly. “I should be thanking you—Trust me on this one.”  
  
She smiles, leaning forward to kiss him for the first time tonight—a first for them during sex, she thinks. “God,” she sighs. “I really need you to cuddle me, hard. Like, right now. I mean, that was awesome, but I miss your arms. And your hands. I really miss your hands.”  
  
She rolls off of him, whining at the loss of contact, and frowns. “Now what did we do with that key?”  
  
“Seriously? Leslie!”  
  
“Kidding!”


End file.
